


Bruising Gently

by Karis_Artemisia_Judith



Category: Frozen (2013)
Genre: Bruises, F/M, Light Bondage, Rough Sex, Sexual Content, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2014-08-17
Packaged: 2018-02-13 12:39:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2151060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karis_Artemisia_Judith/pseuds/Karis_Artemisia_Judith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s so very easy to drown himself in her, lose himself in her, to let her frantic, impatient passion sweep away his control until they are both panting, exhausted, sated.</p>
<p>But sometimes he wants more. He wants time. Her intensity makes their encounters scorching, searing, but so fleeting, so brief. He wants to savour her, to tease her, to overwhelm <i>her.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Bruising Gently

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anysia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anysia/gifts), [feistypants](https://archiveofourown.org/users/feistypants/gifts).



> Kristanna Smut Week, Prompt 1: All Tied Up

"Kris _toff!_ " His name on her lips turns into a gasp, her back arching, her curled toes digging into the rumpled sheets.

Anna has always been the instigator in their relationship.  _The innovator_ , he thinks, when she draws his lip between her teeth and bites him gently.  _The troublemaker_ , when they have to cram themselves into a linen closet, hastily adjusting their clothing and listening for the hallway to be clear of footsteps.  _The impatient one_ , when a quiet cuddle on a sofa somehow leads to Anna astride his hips, distracting him with kisses and using all of her slight weight to pin him down while she tugs open his shirt.

At first they were both awkward, hesitant, taking tiny steps together, and Kristoff would have been content to keep to chaste kisses for as long as she needed—he never wanted to push her, never wanted to make her feel rushed into anything—but Anna was less content. She was the one who pushed, the one who pressed closer, kissed deeper, wrapped herself around him and tangled her hands in his hair. When he asks “ _Are you sure?_ " her answer is always " _Yes_ ,” the word a moan as she guides his hand to touch her, a growl as her little teeth nip at his shoulder, a sigh fading into a hiss of pleasure as her nails dig into his skin. “ _Yes_.”

Once she is sure she is  _sure_  and she pulls him after her like a force of nature, like the rush of snow-fed rivers in the spring. Anna experiences life so  _enthusiastically_ —everything in the world is something to be touched, tasted, smelled, explored, every moment there is some new experience to rush into, and she is no different in this. She wants  _everything_ , and he gives her anything she asks of him. It’s so very easy to drown himself in her, lose himself in her, to let her frantic, impatient passion sweep away his control until they are both panting, exhausted, sated.

But sometimes he wants more. He wants time. Her intensity makes their encounters scorching, searing, but so fleeting, so brief. He wants to savour her, to tease her, to overwhelm  _her_.

 

He presses a series of wet kisses up the inside of her thigh and blows across them, making Anna jump, then sigh as he smooths a warm hand over the goosebumps that he has made. But when he leans back down to nip at her hip, drawing at the crease there hard enough to redden the skin, she cries out sharply and the sound is almost one of pain. Kristoff stops, lifting to look at her. He runs a hand up her trembling side, brushes his fingers over her wrists, checking the twists of silk scarf that trap her hands above her head, bound to the bed post. The scarf is a compromise, after the first time—no matter how much she insisted that she didn’t mind, it hurt  _him_  to see the welts that the rough rope left on her skin. The silk bruises more gently.

"All right?"

Anna wiggles her fingers for him, pushes her body up to rub against his. “Yes.  _Yes_.”

His hands curl around hers for a moment as he kisses her, lingering but shallow.

"All right."

Hands and lips begin to trace a path back down her body, but there are detours—many detours.

Kristoff takes his time over the tender place behind her ear, over the sensitive hollow at the base of her throat, over the soft curves of her breasts. She squirms when his tongue lightly circles one hardened peak, pressing up into the touch, but he brushes his lips down the underside of her breast instead, drawing a faint whine of frustration from her.

"Is there something you want?" he asks, smirking as he nuzzles against her side. She doesn’t answer and he nuzzles harder, rubbing the rough stubble at his jaw against the sensitive, ticklish spot that only he knows, making her shriek with sudden laughter.

“ _Kristoff!_ ”

He rests his chin on her stomach, looking up at her, an innocent smile on his lips. “What?”

Anna pulls up a foot to kick him lightly. “You  _know_  what,” she huffs. “I want—” She breaks off as he nips at her stomach.

"What?"

"I want you to…mmm… _please_ , Kristoff…”

He stops, lifting up on his elbows. “Tell me.”

"I want you…to make me come." Her voice is a low whisper, but the words are clear and firm.

For a moment he is torn between the desire to taste her and the desire to watch her—his eyes sweep over her small, flushed body, stretched out so temptingly before him, and the desire to see her wins out. He kisses the underside of her breast once more, then sits back on his heels, waiting for her to lift heavy eyelids and look at him. Satisfied that he has her attention, Kristoff reaches out brush his fingertips over the tight nubs of her breasts, rolling and pinching just enough to make her hum in her throat. Then his hands begin to slip down the length of her body, the callouses on his palms catching on her skin, his nails lightly scraping, making her whimper. One hand stops at her hip, curling over the soft curve, the other traces down the outside of her thigh, coming to rest on her bent knee.

When he touches her, his fingers never go directly to their destination—they always alight somewhere else instead, caressing across her skin. Before his palm cups her breast it slides up over her ribs, before his hands tangle in her hair they stroke up her spine, and now, before touching the hot core of her, his fingers trace a slow path down the inside of her thigh.

Her hips are already lifting, rocking anxiously up in a silent plea, and he lays a firm hand on her, pinning her down gently. “Be still,” he says, bending to nip at the soft skin of her stomach. The brush of his hot breath makes her squirm and Kristoff shifts to press his forearm across the span of her hips. “Be  _still_.” Anna whines low in her throat, but she doesn’t fight his hold as he finally brings his fingers to the slick, aching softness between her thighs. She doesn’t buck up against him as he strokes her lightly, so lightly, or as he slips his fingertips lower to dip into the wet heat so very shallowly, but when he slides one finger into her she moans and her thighs tremble, her toes digging into the sheet. The hand curled over her hip squeezes.

"Good girl."

Anna’s only answer is a soft whimper as he rewards her with a second finger, stretching and stroking the softness of her inner walls. The whimper becomes a keening wail as he presses up, fingers curling, and he sees with satisfaction the way her lips part, her eyes squeezing shut with the effort of keeping still. At last he bends again to kiss her stomach, smiling against the tense and trembling muscles there, before he lets his hand slip from her hip, sliding it to press against the small of her back, lifting her hips as his fingers thrust hard against her. 

"Come for me, Anna," he tells her, his voice deep and rough.

He never tires of watching her come undone, of watching her back arch, her hands twisting against their restraints as she trembles and squirms. He never tires of hearing her cry out, hearing her soft, humming moans and whimpers, never tires of hearing her saying his name—screaming it, whispering it, breaking the syllables apart with gasping breaths. Free of restraint her hips buck up against his touch, her whole body shuddering helplessly.

Kristoff waits for her to slump back against the pillows, limp and quiet except for her hoarse breathing, before he pulls back, a pleased smirk tilting his lips as he takes in the sight of her. Anna’s whole body is flushed, pink suffusing her chest, her neck, her sweetly freckled cheeks. Her hair is a tangled halo around her head, her skin dewy with sweat, her soft, high breasts trembling with each ragged breath. She’s so beautiful.

And she’s  _his_.

His hand, still slick from her, drops down to curl around his own aching stiffness, fingers stroking idly over the thick length as he presses a lazy path of kisses up her soft body. He will never get tired of mapping the plane of her stomach, the hills and valleys of her curves, and it sends heat coiling down into his stomach when he remembers that this intimate terrain is known only to him. Kisses turn to nipping bites and hard sucks that bruise her skin with possessive marks. Anna’s face is pressed against her own upper arm, muffling her soft gasps, and he grasps her jaw in a firm but gentle hand, turning her head so that he can claim her mouth in a hard kiss. Anna,  _his_  Anna, his sweet, soft, trusting, fiery Anna.

The tip of him brushes her folds teasingly, questioningly, testing if she’s too spent, too sensitive, but Anna shifts against him, welcoming, and whimpers against his mouth. His bold and hungry Anna. Kristoff lifts away from her lips for a moment, then bows his head again to drop lighter kisses against them as he pushes ever so slightly against her entrance. The hot, heavy pulse between his legs is yearning for her heat, distracting him, and he opens his eyes to focus on her face.

"What do you want, Anna?"

"Mmm…you," she mumbles. "I want to feel you."

Obligingly he rubs against her, his cock sliding in the crevice of her delicate folds, stroking over her clit, and she groans and squirms against her bonds, tries to use her legs to pull him to her. “ _Kristoff!_ ”

"What," he kisses her, lingering tauntingly on her lower lip, "do you want me to do?"

Anna’s eyes open, dark and dilated as she looks up at him. “ _Take me_.”

The groan that rumbles in his chest is almost a feral growl and Anna arches her neck with a sharp cry as he drives into her, burying himself deep in her softness, her heat. The time for teasing is over. One big hand pins her hips to his, holding her in place against the hard thrusts as he takes her, claims her, his mouth leaving livid marks on the curve of her neck and shoulder. Anna is whimpering, almost sobbing, and Kristoff lifts his head, curls the fingers of his free hand in her hair, forcing her to look at him.

"I want you to come for me again, Anna," he says. "I want to see you. Can you do that for me?"

"Yes," she gasps, body arching as much as possible in his hard grip. "Yes, yes, yes, yes,  _yes_.” A ragged wail greets a change in the angle of his thrusts, her hands twisting against the silk scarf. “ _Please_.”

"That’s my girl." He kisses her throat softly, in contrast to the almost brutal force of their hips coming together, then looks at her with dark hooded eyes. His fingers move to press against her clit, rubbing and stroking as she cries out. "Come for me."

This second climax seems to build in waves, and he feels her body squeezing and clutching him, sees her head slam back against the pillow, her mouth open on a silent scream that she has no air to voice as the waves crest and crash. She shudders around him, hips bucking erratically and thighs trembling. He curls his body around hers as she shakes helplessly, holding her to him tightly, pinning her beneath him, shielding her, cherishing her, possessing her, as he lets go of everything but this, but her, and as his own long delayed climax takes him his whole world is nothing but Anna and the pulsing pleasure of release in her scorching heat.

They are both too drained to move at first, panting for breath, but as sense and memory return Kristoff realizes that he’s lying too heavily on her. He moves to stretch out beside her, unknots the silk scarf and lets it slither away to the floor. Anna sighs contentedly, rolling her shoulders, and opens her eyes to watch him as he draws her hands to his lips, presses tender kisses to the reddened skin of her wrists.

“You’re feeling guilty.”

Kristoff shrugs, bending to kiss the bruised outline of a bite on her shoulder. “I can’t help it. I—“ he searches for words. However much he likes pinning her down, nipping her skin, holding her tightly, he always feels a pang of remorse afterwards. He isn’t sure whether the guilt is over hurting her, however slightly, when he would die before letting himself or anyone else hurt her in any other circumstances, or whether the guilt comes from the surge of possessive pride he feels when he sees his marks on her body.

She lies back against the pillows, loose and relaxed, and lets him examine her in the light from the fire, retracing his previous steps. Anna’s hand strokes the back of his neck, across his shoulder, waiting as he finds the last of her bruises and presses his lips to each one. Then she digs her fingers into his hair, drawing him up to kiss her. “I like it,” she whispers. “I like…having the reminders on me.” Her hand slips down her own body to trace over the fingerprints on her hip. “I like the feeling that your touch stays with me.”

“I…I do too,” he confesses, and looks away as he feels heat spread over his cheeks.

Anna pulls his mouth back up to hers. “Good,” she says. “Because next time I plan to leave my marks on you.” Her fingernails trace down his back, lightly, and he shivers.

“I’ll look forward to it.” He kisses her hair, cradling her gently against him, and tugs the blanket up over them both.


End file.
